Narrative poem

                                                          Could it Have Been?

It’s all fun and games, then Boom. Bang. Crash. Slam.

You wake up dizzy and nauseous with this sick feeling of hatred, but whom to hate?

You? Me? Sirens sound as the police pulls up.

The grass jumped as the antifreeze leaped from the car to the ground.

 The permanent thoughts run into your mind.

The crucial, nasty, means slurs come in from ongoing traffic.

 You think to yourself, why me, why this, could it be?

You start staggering and falling in the street.

 You think to yourself, how many beers, how many shots, a blunt or two?

 All your thoughts are obsolete. How could you be oblivious to others on the road?

 You look at the car and see how hideous it is.

 It looks as if someone bombarded it from behind and then engaged it into a fight.

 The police run up to get your license and you wonder why?

 Why the nasty, hideous, bleeding attitude? 

As your walking away, you notice another vehicle that was involved, embedded into a tree.

 You approach the vehicle, and the driver was out cold.

 You soon start backing away; only to find yourself bumping into a police officer, then click.

 There goes your freedom. No more driving, no more getting jobs and hopefully no more drinking.

 A few weeks later, you’re released from jail, and you seem pale to the world.

 As you enter society, you notice the looks, the constant staring, the nonstop talking. Could it be if I had not drank?